


Coalmine's Drabble Box

by Coalmine301



Category: Original Work
Genre: Mentions of Violence, Other, Schizophrenia, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coalmine301/pseuds/Coalmine301
Summary: You ever look at a box of crayons and just... angst?
Kudos: 1





	1. Red

**Scarlet** is one of the purer forms of red. She's bright and vibrant and draws eyes with her very presence. All her life she has been described and praised as being the purest, brightest of the reds. She drinks it up like wine. When surrounded by her kin she seems all the more red as she outshines them all. Sometimes she does get bored of all the praise and so easily won attention and is willing to let her kin shine brighter. Sometimes someone wants a subtler touch and passes right over her. She tries not to feel slighted, she tries to feel good for her chosen kin, yet it's hard for her to do when everything they fought for had been freely given to her.

 **Crimson** is jealous of scarlet, he always has been. His jealousy makes him blaze darkly as she gets all the attention. He fights to be just as good as her, maybe better even, even changing himself to try and seem better, more desirable. But they don't seem to notice, not with Scarlet in the room. They say he's too dark, too orange or -sometimes- purple to even hold a candle to her. And yet sometimes he is chosen for when she is a bit too much. He doesn't try to gloat, not intentionally, but it just feels so good to be seen and chosen. Especially after being overlooked for so long. He doubts if scarlet truly understands.

By himself **Maroon** doesn't seem like a red. "He's too brown, too purple, he has no place standing with the reds," they all say. Maroon doesn't care, he's just happy to be invited. He doesn't fit in with the browns or the purples or even the greys. Yet nestled in with the reds no one bats an eye. Sure those eyes skim over his duller colors to take in his brighter companions, but no eyes are batted at him. No noses wrinkled in confusion or even disgust. He's awkward and dark and a little earthy, yet with the reds he oh so easily blends in. Maybe, just maybe, this is where he belongs.


	2. Watching

Ebony stood watching and waiting, as still and sturdy as her namesake tree. Her roots dug down, snaking their way through hundreds of miles underground. Nothing could escape her detection, especially nothing this big.

He is here.

Onyx watched her with eyes that crazed for violence. Yet those eyes were masked with the sharp calmness and stoicism of stone. 

His breath stank of blood.

Even now many had been unable to tell them apart, even up close and with both of them side by side. They say they’re the same, near carbon copies of each other.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

The Ravens watched each other, each one throwing up a mask of calm and nonchalance. No need to be uncivilized. They pretend that they don’t care, though each desperately wants to curl dark fingers around each other’s throats. They want blood to be spilled tonight, though they are willing to wait. To wait and pretend…

It had been a long while since she had seen him again. Once she had though he was her best friend, her other half. They had walked down a dark path together, arm in arm. And if they killed hundreds and thousands turned away then at least they had each other.

And then Ebony had her eyes brutally opened while Onyx’s remained firmly closed. She had realized while he remained brutally ignorant. And violent. 

She had tried everything in her power but had long since given up hope of his eyes ever opening like hers.

“I have killed hundreds to reach you,” Onyx says with the barest hint of a snarl.

“So have I,” Ebony replied, her voice calm and serene as a lake at night.

Onyx’s face briefly contorts into a scowl before quickly washing away. That had been the only trace left of the legendary wrath he had once utilized as dangerous as any weapon. Together they had once ravaged and destroyed, nothing made by man nor beast could stand in their way. Once they had been friends.

Now that faint and oh so brief twitch was the only thing left of said wrath.

“I have committed atrocities, atrocities against countless innocents,” Onyx continued.

“So have I,” Ebony replied, her voice no different from before. Her words echo much softer and sweeter than the meaning behind them.

So have I

So have I

So have I....


	3. You lie

Pink dances for them, as bright and cheery as ever. Living a dark and lonely life, many come here to watch her. She is a candle in the dark, a warm escape from their problems. And even if it lasts but a moment they welcome the distraction with open arms. It certainly beats the bottle.

They laugh, they cry, they applaud her. Countless hands clap along to her tambourine. They praise her without words and it makes Pink’s heart soar. 

Only… _“they lie,”_ the voice whispers. _“They don’t love you, they don’t care about you.”_

It never strikes when she’s on stage to see the shiny faces. It catches her when she’s in the back, tucked away from sight. It catches her as she practices her next routine.  
  
“They love me,” Pink argues back, vehement. 

_“They don’t even like your music.”_

“They do,” Pink snaps back. A tear trails down her rosy cheek. Just the one. Never more. 

Sometimes more. 

Often more.  


Much more.

_“They hate you.”_

“You lie.” She says.

The voice doesn't respond. Pink is no longer naive enough to think it’s gone for good. It will come back to whisper misery into her ear.

It always does.


End file.
